


Eclipsing Binaries #27-16-15

by Palytoxin



Series: Love & Pride [13]
Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: After Final, First Night, M/M, Wimbledon 2007, both idiots, don't know how to tag, unbeta, wimbledon championship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 15:42:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17665391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Palytoxin/pseuds/Palytoxin
Summary: It is a time when they’re too young to tell the difference between want and need, too curious to stand one step back before falling.





	Eclipsing Binaries #27-16-15

**Author's Note:**

> So this is how my Rafa and Roger began the whole story, kinds of young and foolhardy and stupid....and it’s more about curiosity, control issue, possessiveness, protectiveness than love at the beginning.
> 
> This is probably the most important chapter so far in this series. I tried really hard to make it right.
> 
>  
> 
> Please be free to comment～it's always a pleasure to know your thought or get kudos.  
> Thanks for reading~xoxo

 

 

He hides behind some flower and tree in the roof garden again, like he usually did. He really doesn’t like those chatty celebrities. He can hardly understand half of what they’re talking about. And that wine is horrible. He starts feeling the back of his head throbbing. But the tournament ended, he has no excuse. Benito is not here too, no one can save him.

He is never used to sponsor’s parties, even he attends it more frequently. He loves parties, but not this kind. He loves music and dancing, easy relaxing with his friends on his home island. And today is even worse. It’s their sponsor, Roger and him. He doesn’t want to face the Swiss now. It’s not about the loss. It’s not the best result for him. But it’s how tennis goes. He can only accept it. It’s how they react to the other recently, especially yesterday that bothers him much more. Roger just stood at the door of the shower room, watching him crying almost half an hour. He was too occupied by his own misery to notice Roger was there until the staffs hurried them for the presser. Roger’s eyes were shadowed and he failed to read his face.

He tries to recall what he felt last year, happy, hopeful, unstoppable. He was smiling and laughing, even he lost. One year is too long in the tennis world. Everything changed. It took him five years to get in the central court. After 2005, he was satisfied easily with just stepping on the centre court, too heady that he got a beagle at the first set. But would it cost him another five years to put his teeth on the golden cup? He feels the tear he fought back hard trying to escape again. He grasps his knee unconsciously. He is afraid that he can’t afford the luxury of time.

He peeks through those floral decorations, the young king crowning in his luxury tuxedo, sipping champagne, stopping now and then, receiving greetings and congrats from all his subjects, smiling and talking, patrolling his territory. He doesn’t have the strength to approach closer. He doesn’t know why it suddenly became so tense between them. The atmosphere between them got extremely awkward. The words Roger said were too ambiguous to understand. His thoughts were way too fast, he hardly followed Roger’s pace as if he hadn’t been willing to allow him. He talked about it with Feli once. He said it’s normal between rivals. It’s rare they’re so friendly with each other, maybe it’s just the time he should re-evaluate their relationship. But he doesn’t feel like what Feli told him. It’s something he can’t put a finger on it. He has no idea what it is. Every time they meet, it causes a thrill through his spine like an electric shock. Excited? Curious? Scary? It makes him want to get close and flee away at the same time again and again, like some kind of addiction. It has become one of his obsessions before he could actually be aware of.

  
  
****

  
  
This Spanish boy is absolutely a mystery to him from the very beginning, playing like a hungry beast while disturbingly calm and composed, the same attitude to every win and loss, like a philosopher that no one can be at his age, too young in his opinion. He can still remember the insuppressible rage whenever he messed a shot or lost that triggered him to smash rackets in his teenagehood. However, away from the court, the relentless warrior is just a goofy talented kid, naughty but extremely shy, with that adorably broken English. Everything about him is too good to be real, it feels like there’re schemes or something like that beneath the wonderful appearance. Sometimes he thinks how much he’s fond of that silly kid, sometimes he thinks how he hates the Spaniard warrior more than anyone else. It’s kind of twisting feeling that he still can’t tell clearly.

He spots him sitting in a corner right after he stepping into the roof garden. He knows Rafael isn’t accustomed to this kind of PR activities. But when they’re in the same event, Rafael usually soon comes to say hello and tag along with him like a lost puppy since the very first time they met and he has been really flattered. Though he isn’t that kind of people who like intimate friendships, he gets along with Rafael surprisingly well. He does get mad at him sometimes, especially after they play against each other. But the anger never lasts long. However, things have gotten wired these days. It’s too obvious that Rafael has been avoiding him and this truly starts pissing him off. He tried to get contact and figured out what happened exactly but what he’d gotten were polite excuses that sounded totally impolite to him at all. He knows the boy well enough to tell the unspoken words behind: Rafael was tiring with him and decided to get rid of him. He always has the problem of letting go of people or things once he regards them as his. And Rafael is close enough to make him feel the same.

He doesn’t know how this all started, when or where. He thinks when they had met recently, the matches they played against each other, what the boy said on those ceremonies. He remembers they exchanged their shirts after he defeated Rafael in Hamburg. He really had fun that time. If there’s anything wrong there, he didn’t notice. Then the French Open began, they didn’t talk to each other much during the whole tournament. He had to concentrate on his game because Rafael would wait for him in the final anyway. Things started getting strange since then. He hated all those uneasy smiles and estranged greetings. He was irritated. The harder he tried, the more Rafael fleed away. There’s something wrong undoubtedly, something that he hasn’t sorted out yet. Then he saw a crack over that perfect demeanor yesterday for the first time. It made his fingers itchy for ripping the rest of the cover off. He is never really good at restraint. He wants more and wants it now.

 

 

They’ve been dancing around each other for too long.

  
  
****

 

“Rafael”

Rafael almost jumps out off his seat when someone speaks from his back. He turns his head too fast that he feels whole his world spinning. He is stunned by the man standing behind him. He is not ready to face those pushy words. If the Swiss has some other thoughts about their relationship, he could understand, but not today, not now. He is trapped. The more he tries to answer, the more difficult it feels. He gives a wary smile, floundering for a proper greeting.

”Rogi..Rogelio..., congratulations...”

  
He sees the red rims swollen around those amber eyes, this kid probably cried another three, four hours after the post-match interview. He never saw him so much depressed after any defeat. He was wiping his face and sniffing constantly through the whole presser. And now, he looks like he is about to weep again. The unshed tear is welling up in his eyes. He doesn’t like to see Rafael like this whatever the reason is. His face falls unconsciously.

  
Roger didn’t speak any after he greeted him. He looks really displeased. Rafael can’t help himself but cringe involuntarily. He is really frustrated. He has no idea how to deal with this situation. If it’s his countryman, they maybe yell at each other or just fight with each other then everything will be fine. But this is Rogelio. He will never fight with him except on court. He feels stinging behind his eyes, he doesn’t want to cry, especially in front of Roger. He lows his head and hides his face.

  
He can see some guests moving toward them, including one or two unfamiliar journalists through the corner from his eyes. They both together always draw too much attention. He isn’t in a mood for that now. It’s not a good thing if any media sees what’s happening here as well. There’re already enough rumors about the issues between them, he doesn’t need anything to make the situation more tricky.

  
”Let’s get out off here. ”  
“How?”  
“You come with me or not?”

 

He grabs the hand reaching out in front of him without a second thought.

  
  
****

 

“Thank you, Bob.”

Rafael watches Roger clapping hands and talking with the staff. It’s clear that they’re acquaintances. He never thought it’s possible to leave like this.

  
Roger notices how the boy stares at him wide-eyed. He gives a wink and pushes open the door labeled with staff only.

 

“This way. ”

  
  
****

 

He is pulled by shoulders and pushed to an unknown wall in a back street with a hand over his mouth after him turning to a wrong way again. They’re hiding from paparazzi. Roger is like a sharp-witted big cat, peeking out from the shadow over them. He stares at Roger’s chocolate brown eyes, brightening under the reflection of the headlights. Too bright, it’s almost transparent. Then he feels that again, the electric shock passing through. He wants to know what it is.

  
He can’t believe how clueless this silly kid could be, how many time he should drag him back before he totally turned a wrong way or too stupid to be caught by those telephoto lenses. He almost regrets suggesting sneaking away from the party.

  
He hustles the Spaniard against a wall again, shooting him a glance to keep him still. But the unsettled eyes flickering under the streetlight, the muffled exclamation, the damp breaths pumping against his palm, and the warm flesh heaving under his forearm unexpectedly trigger a thrilling that makes his spine curl. And he’s experienced enough to realize what it is.

  
They start running again with Roger grabbing him firmly on the wrist, leading the way. They pass through numerous small alleys and dark lanes that no way he could remember. The heat infusing from those slim and elegant fingers is too hot, he even has a delusion that it makes a burn.

 

 

They rush into a five-floor flat.

  
  
****

 

He leans against the door, still panting for the long, fast running minutes before. The room is completely dark, only the street light passing through the windows. Roger is not more than a silhouette steps away, unbuttoning his jacket and loosening his bow tie roughly.

  
“Rogi, what is it?”  
“You don’t know what it is?”

  
Roger strides toward him, too fast for him to dodge, both hands propping on the door beside his head. They’re very very close. He can feel Roger’s breaths bumping against his skin, hot and damp. He can smell the cologne which he wears, delicate but inevitable, just like Roger himself. Their bodies almost contact, but not.

  
Roger tilts his own head, exploring his expression, ruminating his words, pupils narrowing like a predatory animal ready to hunt.

  
He feels it again. An unmissable thrilling strikes him like he is on court but no one can make him feel it off court except Roger. He isn’t sure that he wants to touch or get away, maybe he wants both, maybe he wants none of them.

  
“You really don’t know what it is.”

  
He sees Roger smirking and hears him speaking with that iconic playful tone.

 

He is confused.

 

“You don’t know what is it?!”  The words almost come out from Roger’s gritted teeth.  
“Wha———?!”

  
His voice is cut by the sensation that Roger’s hip grinds against his own. He isn’t even aware of himself getting hard.

He groans, head tossing back and thudding hard against the door. And Roger’s lips are instantly skimming over his throat and biting. Things go heating up uncontrollably.

It’s more a fight than sex. They push and grab, almost wrestling. And neither of them wants to yield. It surprises Rafael that even the gentleman Roger Federer can fight. They roll on the floor, hands and legs tangling uncomfortably, fingers digging into skin, teeth sinking into the flesh underneath. When he's finally pined on the carpet, he just can’t fight anymore, melting for the perfect pressure that Roger’s strong hands wrap tightly around his wrists and the bodyweight pressing firmly against his own. He gives in to the uncanny relief suddenly falling around him. All the burden over his shoulder seems to be gone with the tear streaming down his cheeks.

  
“Rafael?”

  
He doesn’t know what‘s wrong. He stops. The resistance and tension are suddenly gone. The taut muscle under his palm loosens, soft and pliable. He is trying to check it out but distracted. Rafael is licking him on the chin like a spoiled puppy drawing attention. He gives in, forgetting whatever just happened, it doesn’t matter now. He starts another kiss, greedy and messy and filthy this time.

 

 

He tugs Rafael up, wobbling to the bedroom while their hands still gripping tight on each other. They barely manage to reach the bed without knocking down any furniture.

  
Rafael looks a little bit buzzed, face red, hair tousling around his face, wet locks sticking to his forehand. He sits on the bed, clearly doesn’t know what to do next, looks much younger than he should be, merely a boy. Roger can easily tell the tuxedo wasn’t well-tailored. Those fabrics are hardly fit to any part of his body, too tight on the shoulders and arms, too wide over his waist, it couldn’t even wrap around that infamous ass properly, as if he stole them from someone’s closet, trying to sneak into the party and hook some celebrities. Roger is amused by his own little fantasy. A hooker definitely has better skills than Rafael.

 

 

But he is wrong.

Skills aren’t his lethal weapon. The dangerous innocence is the real ace which Rafael kills his preys with.

 

Rafael nudges his face on Roger’s crotch, inhaling deeply like it’s something really good to smell, fingers hooking on the belt loops. His breaths are hot, damp, heavy, just layers of fabric away from Roger’s aching cock. All his blood rushing up and drumming thumpingly in Roger’s ears makes him a little bit light-headed. He has never been turned on like this in his whole life before.

  
He yanks his trousers and briefs low in one movement, pressing his iron-hard cock to those chapped lips. And Rafael just takes it submissively, swallowing him in without any sign of refusing.

He shoves in and draws out a muffled choking sound from that stuffed throat. He shuts his eyes tight, trying to hold himself together from breakdown under the unexpected heat and thrill washing through his whole body. He seizes Rafael on his shoulder with one hand to refrain himself from going too further, another hand sliding down to touch those flexible muscles spasming around his own cock. It’s too much. He can’t help himself. When he finally pulls out, the violated lips are red, swollen, glinting under Rafael’s own saliva and his precum.

  
Rafael heaves heavily, staring at him with hooded eyes, slobber drooling along his chin to his neck. His hands are still resting on the hollow of Roger’s knees, where he grabbed tightly minutes before to steady himself from being thrown off balance by the brutal force Roger thrusting into his mouth with.

Their eyes lock on each other, no one averts. He watches those elegant fingers touching his eyelash, so soft like the wings of butterflies, sweeping out the tear gathering around the corner of his eyes, then sliding down to his burning swollen lips. He catches the fingertips with his teeth. Something dark and dangerous shines in the brown eyes staring at him. “Rafael...” He hears his own name in a throaty croak as if the Swiss is trying hard to warn him or suppress something. He feels the thrilling electricity passing through again. He lets go those fingers, opening his mouth, trying to express himself. But before he could come up with any words, he is shoved hard into the mattress.

 

 

He pushed Rafael down on his back, pounding all his body weight on him. Their lips clash painfully. It really hurts, but he couldn’t care less. He sucks hard, striking his tongue deep into that hot mouth. He tastes the salty blood, himself and something only could be Rafael. His hands aren’t spare, busy in stripping all the remaining fabrics.

The naked body covered with sweat under him is warm and solid, smooth but lively. He bites into the meaty flesh, watching every muscle flexing and tautening, hearing Rafael whining and hissing, and can’t stop pushing for more. He fishes in the drawer of his bedside table and finds nothing he needs. There was no reason he bought those supplies. He never brought anyone here, not his parents, nor his team. Even Mirka has only known he has a flat in London. Never a human being except himself had been here. He sits back on his heels, pushing his hair with one hand frustratedly. He won’t stop and he doesn’t want.

He turns around and tries to find some substitutes, but just one look over Rafael he couldn't tear his eyes away. He never thought there’s anything good to see about a man masturbating. The young boy is leaning on the pillows, looking up at him from under those long black lashes, stroking himself languishingly, precum leaking down along those strong fingers, wetting his groin. He is mesmerized. He crawls forward, patting Rafael’s hands away, taking them both into his own hands, pawing.

Rafael lays his right hand loosely on Roger’s wrist, fingers twitching as Roger rubbing up and down, caressing the sensitive slit, soft purrs leaking out while he sinks his head back to the pillows. His another hand scratching over Roger’s shoulder, drawing him closer. Roger takes this as a hint of another kiss before he trails his lips along that prominent jaw line down to that bare throat, nipping. Their hands are trapped between their arousal bodies, their cocks are grinding hard furiously. Everything is scorching hot, too hot that he is afraid it’d burn.

He pulls back a little, giving himself some space to push one of the brawny legs upper and wide-opened. He strokes the inner thigh back and forth, feeling the velvety skin with goosebumps all over and the muscles flexing under his palm, brushing the intimate pucker teasingly every time his hand moves over the junction. It’s wet everywhere, wet with their sweat and precum. He distracts Rafael by another sloppy kiss, sucking his tongue into his own mouth, saliva swings from their chins. He breaches the tight ring of muscle, sliding his fingers in one after another, slowly stretching him open, crooking when his fingertips digging into that sensitive gland, freezing constantly when Rafael lets out some sharp hisses and gets tense around his digits time after time. “ Rogelio...” He feels his name rolling on the tongue upon his own. It sends a shiver down to his whole body.

  
It takes him seconds before he realizes what Roger is asking for. “Si, si....”His face flushes more than it has ever been while he replies flusteredly. He can feel the wet silky cock head brushing over the back of his thigh. His whole body tenses up. He knows how big Roger is, he just put it into his mouth. It’s too late to start getting panic now. He shuts his eyes tight, lips pressing into a straight line, jaw clenching as if he were about to step on court. He is nervous, he has never done this before. He is preparing for the intrusion. However, what comes the next is only a hand stroking his cheek gently. He opens his eyes and sees Roger looking at him with a soft smile on his lips.

  
He can tell Rafael is strained. His limbs are stiff. Maybe this is too much for him. He wonders if Rafael has been laid with anyone before. He always looks like an over-growing puppy, too young to involve in this kind of things. But there’s no way he could hold back now.

  
“Tell me, if anything gets wrong, okay?”

  
Rafael nods reluctantly. Roger bends down to put a feather-like kiss over his cheek and reaches out to his hip to make him turn over. But Rafael slings all his limbs around him, clasping him tightly, refusing to move. He hides his face on Roger’s shoulder, too shy to look at his face. Roger can’t help but let out soft chuckles, putting more kisses over his hair, ear, neck, tickling him, making Rafael squirm and finally burst into giggles. He leans his forehead against Rafael’s. Their eyes lock on. “Ready?” Slowly, Rafael places both his arms around Roger’s shoulders, wrapping his legs around his waist, taking a deep breath before pressing their lips together. Then he swallows his word. “Si. “

  
He cups Rafael’s jaw and stroking, thumb pressing into that lower lip. It’s so full, so soft, so supple. He can’t suppress the desire but bite into it and suck hard. The whimpers he draws out only seduce him going further. Their limbs entangle tightly, mouths barely ever leaving each other until he can’t no longer breathe properly. He buries his face in the crook of Rafael’s neck inhaling deeply. The smell remembers him when they’re on court, and he can’t stop himself telling Rafael how beautiful he is when he sprints with his long hair and pirate outfit, how he jolted him every time with his super quick footwork and crazy passing shots, how he fights and forces him over the limit time after time. He keeps talking and kissing and nipping over Rafael’s ear. He slides one hand down, kneading the strong flesh hard enough to leave marks, then reaching himself to slowly press inside.

  
He knows it’s uncomfortable at the beginning, but he doesn’t know it would be like this. It reminds him once he won a junior tournament with his little finger of left hand broke, he even needed his opponent to help him lift the trophy. The dull pain lingered throughout the whole week that made him unable to think any other things, barely focusing on his body and game. Just like now it hurts, however the vicious criticisms and self-doubts rattling constantly in his head persistently become quiet down for the first time in ages. His sensation is overloaded. All he can feel is Roger, Roger pulsing inside himself, Roger’s strong fingers digging into his hip painfully, Rogers stubble grazing roughly over his neck, Roger, Roger, Roger. He hears him muttering against his ear, words he can’t catch their meanings flowing through, his own name whispered brokenly. He can’t stop himself shivering, while breathing starts getting difficult.

  
He is inside Rafael. He almost comes by the thought only. He never expects this, although this boy always surprises him, in all aspects. He is drowning in his own feelings. But a painful crying drags him out. He stops, raising himself on one hand. He doesn’t mean to make him uncomfortable. He slides one hand to Rafael’s half-wilted cock, touching gently and grinds his hip, slightly grazing over the sensitive gland, trying to make it good. The whining is slowly becoming little moans filled with pleasure. He watches his feature slackening, his eyes half open, hardly focusing. The tightness and heat are overwhelming. Every muscle flexing, every strangled moan pouring from that pleading mouth, every time the stretched hole clenching around him is utterly beyond imagination. But having Rafael naked and spread like this, twitching and trembling, then falling apart beautifully, thoroughly trashed under his manipulation is far more than just sex. He can’t help himself but force for more, thrusting harder and deeper.

  
He can feel Rafael getting closer to the edge, his nails clutching over this skin of his shoulders, his back arching up, his legs tightening around his waist, inner muscles spasming fiercely around Roger that he sees stars. He’s fucking him through the orgasm, watching Rafael stiffening, then painting his own abs with white streaks. And the half-sobbing squeal is the one last straw. He grunts, pressing Rafael hard into the mattress with a force he’s never used in any sex before, pinning him completely still and fuck and fuck and fuck until his whole body tenses up and deadly jerks and gives all he has. After he unrestrainedly empties himself inside Rafael, the long-lasting frustration towards the Spaniard that keeps haunting him finally seems to be tamed a little bit.

  
  
****

 

He is woken by the warm sunlight. He cracks his eyes open and notices the curtains are left open and the early sun is shining through the huge window. It’s unusual. He always sleeps with the curtains closed.

  
He tries to turn away from it but an unfamiliar weight obstructs him from moving. He looks down and finds Rafael is half on him, face burying on his chest, their legs tangling under the sheets. His right hand covers over the nape of Rafael’s neck, a protective gesture he doesn’t do so often but only to Rafael.

  
He hasn’t figured out why or when he became so protective and possessive toward this goofy kid. Maybe from their first met in the locker room, when he stepped out the shower naked and pumped into a shy boy in a panic with blood-red flush all over his face or because sometimes even the interpreters gave up trying but he could still understand whatever Rafael spoke in broken English anyway?

  
He drifts in his thoughts, tugging those curly long locks absently. Rafael mumbles something like grumbles maybe in Spanish or Mallorquí he doesn’t know, nuzzling on his chest, trying to shake off the disturbing. He stops and closes his eyes. It’s not even a little bit close to the time he gets up usually. He always sleeps almost until noon, especially after an exhausting tournament ends.

  
  
****

 

He hears something beeping. It feels like the sound is hammering directly on his head. He tries to burrow under his pillows but finds himself lying on somebody’s chest. It’s so hairy. He blinks a few times and the memories of last night flood back. His face gets hot like burning. It’s Roger! He is unsettled then feels a pat over his back. But that something keeps beeping nonstop. It’s annoying. The next second, he jumps and scrambles out of bed. It’s his mobile. He fishes in the piles of clothes discarded last night and finally finds it. It’s Benito. He picks up. However every question from Benito, he has no answer for. He even doesn’t know where he is. Then Roger takes the mobile away.

  
“This is Roger. “

“Yeah. He’s in my flat. “

“Okay, I’ll deal it.”

”Don’t worry. It’s nothing, really. “

  
Talking to Rafa’s manager and promising to call a cab to send him back safely is much more awful than he thought it would be. It feels like he had seduced a minor or did something illegal. They showers separately. It’s lucky he still keeps those over-sized outfits that Nike gave him several years ago and his shoe size is bigger than Rafael’s. They go downstairs in awkward silence, both not knowing what to say. The cab is already waiting. He checks the address again, then says goodbye to Rafael without half hug or clapping hands, just words. It really feels weird.

  
  
****

 

He goes back to his flat and makes himself a coffee, holding it into his bedroom, sitting at the armed chair beside the window. His room still smells like Rafael. But he doesn’t bother to open the window. It doesn’t smell bad. The noon sun is a little bit too shiny. But he loves the view anyway. He bought here after he lifted his first gold cup.

He doesn’t know what to do the next. But he knew he hasn’t had enough yet. He couldn't let go after he finally unwrapped the cover and saw what’s inside.

  
  
****

 

Sitting on the backseat of the cab, clad in Roger’s clothes, Rafael feels very uncertain about the thing happened between them both. He’s staring out the window. It’s very strange, roads, buildings, pedestrians. Whenever he goes to a city and plays tournaments, he always feels himself like an intruder. Everything is very distant. He knows nothing about them.

He head keeps paining. The voices inside starts buzzing annoyingly again. If it weren’t for the undeniable soreness over his body, he would not believe his memory. The feeling of Roger’s fingers digging into his hip is still ghosting. Just one thought, his breath hitches. The smell of Roger lingers as well, the detergent of his clothes, the shower gel he used in his bathroom, the cologne attached on his skin when Roger kissed him at the door. He shuts his eyes tight. It’s not what he expected. But he doesn’t know what he expected either. It’s all out of control.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
